Dr John Watson: Lost
by cleverdetectivefunnyhat
Summary: I'm writing this story in response to a prompt: John Watson is actual Sebastian Moran! Given to me on tumblr via taesmindpalace Please let me know what you think! P.S.: I DEFINITELY DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE CHARACTERS. THEY ALL BELONG TO THE BRILLIANT SHOW OF SHERLOCK (BBC)
1. Chapter 1

The most pressing case on Sherlock Holmes' mind had been the curious case of _John Watson: the lost doctor, and ex-soldier._ For months, he had been observing, deducing, and failing. Although Mycroft had promised to use all the resources at his disposal to find John, Sherlock couldn't help but worry. If The British Government couldn't even track him down until now, there was a great chance that John Watson might very well be gone.

It was hard enough for Sherlock to look for him while still undercover, and on so many lonely nights he'd fiddled with his phone desperately fighting the urge to just call his friend. He convinced himself that wherever in the world he was, John would instantly pick up, and assure Sherlock that he was alive and well.

Wasting away the days he'd planned to spend on dismantling Moriarty's network Sherlock realized that he was only delaying his own return. In a split second of pure objectivity he came to the conclusion that the faster he was done with work, the faster he could return. Wishing to go back to Baker Street, and walk in through the door to find that John himself –upon hearing about Sherlock's comeback- decided to show up, and sit in his old armchair again.

Sherlock Holmes set out to finish what he'd started, using his desired reunion as motivation, he went back to detective work, and did what he does best. One by one, the remainders of Moriarty's men were falling. Sherlock began making arrangements for his own resurrection; little did he know what had yet to come…


	2. Chapter 2

As always, Sherlock was a few steps ahead of everyone. He was able to figure out Sebastian Moran's next operation, and decided that he should be there to greet him. Sherlock knew it was almost impossible for his pan to go wrong, especially after Mycroft had insisted on backing him up with specially trained men, and yet he was feeling nervous. He was smart enough to know that his nerves had nothing to do with stopping Moran, and everything to do with 'coming back from the dead.' This was his last case after all. The last of Moriarty's men…the last of his complex network. In a few hours Sherlock is going back to Baker Street, and finding John.

_Right, let's do this._

Sherlock checked his watch to confirm that he was on time. Moran would arrive in around 10 minutes, which gives Sherlock about 7 minutes to break into the building and waiting for him at the rooftop. Using his skills in lock-picking he managed to get into the building through the back door, and he moved up the stairs with swift, and lightness making sure he didn't make a sound, not even his footsteps were audible.

When Sherlock was finally at the highest floor of the building he was surprised to notice that the rooftop door was not locked. _Perhaps the security guard was just up here for a smoke. He dismissed it._

He pushed the door ever so slightly making just enough room for him to slip to the other side.

The top of the building was cold at this time of night, but Sherlock wasn't bothered by the weather. He walked to the edge of the building and looked down at the world. _London Town._ He let himself smile, thinking that in a few minutes he will be able to walk those overcrowded streets, and breath the saturated air like every other irrelevant citizen in the city. _Free as a bird._ As much as he hated admitting it, being away from London for so long had shaken him up a bit. He hated being out of his comfort zone.

Sherlock's dreamy anticipations were cut short as a sound at the other end of the roof shook him back to reality. He thought the security guard was still smoking. Walking dutifully in his direction, Sherlock was about to shout out for the guard to evacuate the area when his eyes fell on something else-someone else.

It was dark, and he could only see the back of a head, but he knew very well who it was. The fading blond hair, the leather jacket, and the military baring. He'd seen this figure more times than he'd seen his own face in the mirror, he practically memorized it. Something inside Sherlock was shaking, she wasn't sure how to react, but he didn't need to be, for the first time in his life Sherlock's heart told him what to feel.

Happy. He was feeling happy to see him again. He wasn't gone, or dead or anything. He didn't have to look for him.

Words impulsively escaped Sherlock lips, his voice almost singing in delight.

"John! You're here…"


End file.
